


Starve

by sixxdaysofmylife



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Childhood Trauma, Death, Depression, Eating Disorders, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Lots of it, Morse!Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-05-06 07:57:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14637468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixxdaysofmylife/pseuds/sixxdaysofmylife
Summary: A series of deaths that don't initially appear suspicious open up a side of Morse's life that no one has seen before





	1. The Hottest Days in Oxford

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! this is my first work in the fandom, after a few months of reading the fics it had to offer, i decided it was about time i tried to write one myself. trigger warning for eating disorders  
> (I'm doing my GCSEs at the moment, so updates may be infrequent for the next month or so)  
> Enjoy!

Molly Parker was barely twenty when she was found dead in the bathroom of her studio apartment out by Denton; three weeks of decomposition in a sealed, quite airless room, had provided the stench that helped to find her, much to the displeasure of her landlord’s sense of smell. Her corpse was pale, almost sheet white, though a green tinge had started to take over in some areas, especially the lower regions. Dr DeBryn had certainly worked on worse, but something about the deathly odour rather put him off, and so the cause would remain undetermined until he had completed the post-mortem; though the non-obvious symptoms didn’t appear to be suspicious, a certain DC Morse wasn’t just going to let someone so young die without the proper investigation.

-

Thursday could tell something was wrong from the second that Morse’s face appeared at his door, plastered with undisputed grimness and a hint of sadness.

“The post-mortem results for Molly Parker are in Sir, I wouldn’t mind your eye over it.” Morse asked in his rather humble and indirect manner, Thursday was used to it by now.

“’Course, something in it you reckon?” Thursday questioned, throwing on his coat and placing his hat upon his head without realising he’d even done it, “Not just a natural death?”

“She was twenty years old, no previous diagnosis of anything that could’ve lead to her ending up dead in her bathroom.” Morse reasoned, to which Thursday hummed and followed his bagman out of his office and towards the CID exit.

-

“Molly Parker.” DeBryn began, removing the pale green sheet from where her forever sleeping face lay on the cold slab of the mortuary table.

Thursday peered over to look at her, and caught Morse doing the same. She looked so young, but haggard and gaunt; it disturbed both men, and their glances were short.

“Anything suspicious?” Morse asked, monotone as per usual.

“Nothing but. The cause was emaciation.” DeBryn recalled, skimming over his notes.

“Starved to death?” Thursday quizzed, it was certainly not the cause he’d been expecting; thought the severity of her cheekbones and jawline couldn’t be put down to decomposition, not yet at least.

“Indeed, Inspector.” DeBryn began, “And she either forgot to eat for four months, or she suffered from some form of eating disorder, not likely bulimia, more so straight anorexia, she certainly abused laxatives.”

It wasn’t murder then, but Thursday was disturbed nonetheless, mostly by the rapidly paling expression on Morse’s face, the lad swallowed and turned so the body was nowhere near his line of vision.

“You alright, Morse?” Thursday turned to face him, DeBryn looked up from his notepad with a frown at the Detective Constable.

“Yup.” Morse said with a deep breath, “Just wondering how her family will take it.”

Thursday sighed, and nodded, she was so young, it was no wonder Morse was a little more affected than usual.

 

-

A knock at the office door brought Thursday out of his paper work, the window showed that his visitor was Morse.

“Come in.” Thursday instructed with a voice loud enough that it would travel through the door.

Morse did so, carefully shutting the door behind him; his bagman seemed unusually timid, but Thursday didn’t think much of it.

“It’s about the girl, Sir, Molly Parker,” Morse paused, thinking of how he would phrase his next sentence, “Well, I was wondering if I could investigate it further, find out how such a thing could’ve happened.”

“Dr DeBryn said-” Thursday tried to argue.

“I know Sir, but something just doesn’t feel right about it…” Morse looked up, eyes hard set with concern and something else that Thursday couldn’t quite decipher.

“Well, if you really think there’s something to it… And you ought to try and track down any family if you haven’t already.” Thursday nodded, and Morse made himself scarce.

He was certainly an odd character, but with how much he’d experienced in his short life, Thursday wasn’t at all surprised; he felt so much fondness for the boy, almost as if he were family.

Thursday turned his attention back to reviewing the typed-up car thefts on his desk and sighed, he could really do with a big case sometime soon, the sweltering heat of high summer was trapped within the walls of the CID offices and was starting to become unbearable.

Restlessly, Thursday reread the same line over and over, the clock was ticking by impossibly slowly and the heat seemed to be becoming more intense. He stood suddenly, fed up with how boring his job was becoming.

He left his personal office into the main CID offices, surveying who was there. Strange was hanging about in the corner, looking positively boiling in his thick, black uniform, Jakes was lounging at his desk, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, tie loosened, and suit jacket long abandoned; the only odd sight was Morse. Thursday hadn’t registered it when his bagman had made a quick appearance in his office, but Morse was still wearing his suit jacket and even had his coat resting over his shoulders.

“Morse,” Thursday said, the lad looked up suddenly as if he hadn’t noticed Thursday enter CID, “You’re wearing a coat.”

Morse looked down at himself and properly put his arms in the sleeves of his coat. Winter coat.

“Yes, Sir.” Morse replied, before peering around the room to see the baffled faces of Strange and Jakes, and of course, Inspector Thursday.

“Why on earth are you wearing a coat on possibly the hottest day of the year?” Thursday asked with a chuckle, the boy looked like a dear in headlights.

“I… Well, I was a bit cold Sir, the office fan is quite powerful…” Morse gestured to the fan that seemed to be pumping out nothing but sweaty, hot air.

Thursday went to the fan and put it on a lower setting, Jakes looked between Morse and the Inspector like they were mad.

“That should be better, now take that coat off, and your suit jacket, you’ll boil in all of that!” Thursday instructed his bagman, still rather bemused. Morse nodded and did so, shyly, the whole of CID was watching him de-clothe like a hawk.

Once Morse was in shirtsleeves Thursday nodded and resumed what he had come into the room to do in the first place.

“I reckon we could all do with a pint and get some fresh air.” Thursday proposed and Strange all but ran out of the room, Jakes not far behind. “Coming then Morse?”

Morse got out of his chair sluggishly, his shirt was baggy and coming untucked from his trousers; he was certainly a sight for sore eyes.

“You alright lad?” Thursday asked, guiding Morse out of the offices with a friendly hand on his back.

“Just a bit tired is all.” Morse reassured with a faint smile.

-

The pub was packed, even though it was early for lunchtime; they decided the pub garden would be a much better idea. Aside from the odd fly with a taste for beer, the garden was blissful. No one said much between the long gulps of cold beer.

Thursday couldn’t take his eyes off Morse in his shirtsleeves, he knew the lad was whip thin, but he seemed to have lost more weight than he even knew was possible; he made a mental note to mention it to Win, so she’d fuss until Morse had to accept some mothering.

It wasn’t just how thin he looked though, there was a sadness to his eyes that had only been there since the post-mortem results briefing, he had said he was fine, but it wouldn’t be the first time Morse had lied to try and change the subject from himself.

Thursday hastily drank a third of his beer.

-

Three day later and the hot weather was still unbearable, work was starting to pile up on Thursday’s desk and very little of it was complete. His office phone, which had been silent for much of the day, suddenly screamed out and made him jump a little in his chair.

“Hello?” Thursday said into the receiver

“Sir, a body has been found by a dog-walker in Florence park.” An officer said down the line.

“Alright, I’ll be there, have a man to meet us and show us the way.” Thursday ordered and put down the receiver.

Taking no time to dawdle, Thursday flew out of his office and grabbed Morse, muttering something incoherent about being busy, which went ignored. Having given up trying to argue against Thursday’s desire, Morse hurried along behind and asked if Thursday knew anything about the body.

He didn’t, so Morse fidgeted, frustrated by lack of information, as Thursday took the wheel for once.

-

The body belonged to Ellie Forester, a 21-year-old, Strange explained, wiping away sweat from his brow as they waited anxiously for Dr DeBryn to complete his initial evaluation.

“I can’t say there is anything exactly obviously suspicious from a first glance, although the manner of her death may very well be in some way connected to Molly Parker, emaciation likely, or heart failure due to it. She, as you can see, is clearly undernourished.” DeBryn held out the corpse’s right arm and pointed at the hideously prominent wrist bone and slender fingers that could be snapped with little force.

“How could this be murder?” Thursday thought out loud, it seemed impossible that the two deaths were connected, just coincidence surely.

“It may not be, Inspector, however my official opinion is that the cause of death for these two women was the same, for the moment anyway.” DeBryn mused, making notes in his pocket-sized moleskin.

“Other than the cause, is there nothing else suspicious at all… no bruises, or something along those lines?” Morse questioned, his thin face was drawn and concerned; worried even.

“Not that I can see, but as I said, this is only a first glance, I’ll be able to give you a much better picture once I’ve completed the post-mortem.” DeBryn said as he slid his moleskin away and gestured for the coroner’s men to take the body away, “Gentlemen.” He tilted his head as a form of goodbye and walked off to his Morris.

“This is all bloody bizarre.” Strange started, watching Ellie Forester’s body be carried off on a gurney, a thick blanket covering her. “I mean, even aside from the circumstances, why would anyone want to starve themselves skinny, there’s nothing beautiful about being a twig.”

Thursday looked between the Police Constable and his bagman, noting Morse gulp down something that looked like guilt.

“Alright Constable, you finish up here, Morse and I will go and see if we can track down a family for Miss Forester.” Thursday instructed and walked away, his bagman following quickly behind.

-

“Hello, am I right in thinking an Ellie Forester lives here?” Thursday asked the man who had opened the door at 33 Foxglove Road.

“Indeed, my daughter.” The man replied, revealing a west-country accent.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Sir, your daughter was found dead in Florence park a few hours ago.” Thursday explained carefully, anxiously awaiting what sort of response the man would give.

“My God!” He cried, a hand flying to his mouth, water welling up in his eyes.

“I understand this may be quite a sensitive time, but we need to ask you some questions, so we can get a better picture of what may have happened.” Thursday stated with a sympathetic tone. He couldn’t imagine how horrible it would be to lose a child, the mere thought of something like that happening to his Joanie was just too horrible to picture; he swallowed back the faintest prick of tears.

“Of course,” the man said once he had composed himself a little, his voice still a little shaky, “Please, come in, I’ll put on a brew.”

-

“Ellie had suffered with her body image all her life, she’d gone through periods of being bad with eating, recently she’d moved out and from the little I saw of her since, it looked as if she was worse than ever.” The man, who turned out to be a Joseph Forester, explained.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Thursday asked, attempting to build up a picture.

“Last Tuesday,” a week ago, Thursday calculated in his head, “We went to Burridge’s to find her some furniture for her new house.”

“Did she seem okay?” Thursday went through the basic lines of enquiry, he had asked them so many times that sometimes he completely tuned out the answers, thankfully his bagman was more alert and scribbled down anything that anyone said. Though Morse was off again, too pale, drawn into himself; something about this case was affecting the lad, and once the interview with Mr Forester was over, Thursday made a mental note to get the bottom of it.

“Absolutely, she was practically skipping around all the pretty lampshades and sofas, like a little deer she was.” Mr Forester described with a fond smile, dampened by grief.

“That should be all for now Mr Forester, thank you for your time, and the tea.” Thursday gestured to his empty teacup, balancing haphazardly on a chipped saucer, he noticed Morse had barely touched his own, but thought nothing of it.

“Not a problem, Inspector, if I can be of any more assistance I’d be happy to help.” Mr Forester offered as he led them to the front door.

“Good afternoon.” Thursday said, tipping the front of his hat slightly towards the man before walking towards the Jag, which was positively boiled in the sunlight.

-

Once they were both seated in the car, Thursday suggested a quick visit to the Lamb and Flag, Morse nodded, not really paying attention. Before Thursday let him start up the car, he put a hand on the wheel and asked, “If there was something wrong, would you tell me?”

Morse’s eyes widened a little, showing Thursday finally had his full attention.

“Of course.” Morse said a little too over-confidently, but it was enough for Thursday, and he took his hand off the wheel and allowed his bagman to drive on.


	2. Musings of Morse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I am so very sorry to all of you who were eagerly anticipating a second chapter, but I promise you, 2019 is the year of me actually sticking with things, I had so many ideas brewing for this. Also sorry it's a bit of a short one, the real tea is gonna start spilling very soon!

After a third body appeared and the post mortem concluded that the cause of death had been emaciation, CID had decided that it was certainly more than a coincidence; beginning the investigation they searched the apartments and bedrooms of the deceased, hoping to find some sort of clues to what could have caused such a rise in starvation related deaths.

Morse had been unusually withdrawn from the second CID had begun the investigation, Thursday found it particularly strange considering his persistence and interest after Molly Parker’s post-mortem. Perhaps, Thursday mused, Morse had thought the investigation fruitless, that the whole affair was simply a coincidental rise in insecurity amongst Oxford’s young women; however, it was unlike his detective constable to act so.

It seemed as though Morse would go out of his way to avoid involvement in the investigation and discussions around it, either leaving the station to pursue something far less engaging, or just shrugging and burying his head in work. It was only after Jakes took the day off to spend with his girl, that Morse was forced to actually accompany Thursday to come on a search around the apartment of their third supposed victim, Lisa Lilith.

He said nothing as Thursday led the way through the station, no speculations or thoughts of what could possibly be the cause to such horrendous deaths; just silence and a dead pan expression.

Even in the Jag, where he’d usual never stop listing off his often crazy, ideas, Thursday couldn’t get more than unrelated small talk out of him. It was driving the DI into a worried madness, he hadn’t seen Morse so subdued since his return from Witney, that was understandable, being shot often left men traumatised and quiet, he’d seen enough of it in the war.

The current behaviours that the lad exhibited just seemed so out of place, sure he’d seen some pretty bad stuff as of late, but he seemed fine around it all, facing murders and crime with a stoic grimace. Before Thursday could speculate further, they had arrived.

Morse parked the car, which seemed dustier than ever in the dry summer sun, and collected his jacket; since being scolded by his DI, he had refrained from wearing his coat, though it was clear to see that he greatly desired it whenever the day plunged into shadow.

“Come on then, let’s see if we can’t find something that makes sense in all of this.” Thursday prompted, giving Morse a gentle pat on the shoulder, hoping he could be encouraged to start spewing out theories; it was Morse’s input that CID really needed right now, as usual, they were clueless.

The apartment was plastered in posters of The Beatles and The Kinks, not abnormal for a girl of Lisa’s age, in fact it was seemingly how all of the girl’s rooms had looked, pop-stars were always big with the younger generation; notably, Thursday saw the first emotion he had seen on Morse’s face for quite some time, quite in character of detest for the musicians. He was always an odd one.

Noticing Thursday had seen him glaring at the posters, Morse spoke up, “Never understood the whole ‘beetle mania’ thing, they’re just people, probably as corrupt as some of the people we deal with!” The cynical tone was almost a relief to Thursday’s ears, though as soon as it began it seemed to be taken up by that blank look once again.

What the hell was up with him, Thursday pondered for not the first time that day.

They searched around in silence for quite some time, stretching into the evening. It wasn’t before the sun had almost completely set that Morse came into the room Thursday was searching in, hurriedly with a look of concern and that signature glint of speculation in his eye.

“Sir.” He held up a small cardboard package with swirly red writing that read ‘Perfect Figure, diet pills’, “I think we should check the other girl’s rooms to see if we can find these, did Dr DeBryn not say that Molly Parker had abused some pill of this sort?” Morse seemed to be back to his old self once more, Thursday supposed a breakthrough of some form might’ve caused such a reaction, “They could have been poisoned, by accident or some other awful reason…”

The lost look was back, whatever glint of excitement fizzled away, the uncertainty in his voice was so bizarre. Thursday was sure Morse was onto something, if not, it was the best lead they’d had so far.

“Bloody brilliant you are Morse, always paying attention to the little details,” Thursday praised his detective constable hoping to at least inspire a smile, to no avail, he went on, “Let’s not take any risks with more deaths, Ellie Forester’s flat isn’t far from here, we can check there and then pop to Molly Parker’s first thing tomorrow. Dr DeBryn will have gone home long ago, so we can drop it by the mortuary after that.”

Morse nodded and pocketed the little packet of pills, once Thursday was happy that they definitely hadn’t missed anything, they left, shutting off the lights so that the little flat was illuminated by only the orange glow of the street lamps outside.

The Jag’s soft purr made Thursday realise just how late it was, as he yawned rather dramatically, luckily, he’d expected the search to go on for quite some time, and had Win make him a second sandwich; pulling it out of his pocket brought him to a rather startling fact. Morse hadn’t eaten a damn thing all day.

“Here lad, you’ve been at it since god knows how early, why don’t we call it a night, we can stop by Miss Forester’s place tomorrow-” He could see Morse open his mouth to protest, but wanted to make an offer before the excuses came, “Why don’t you come back to mine for tea, Win is always glad to have another mouth to feed, she’s got a real soft spot for you.”

“Oh, um, no- I, well I was planning to meet with… one of my old college mates, Antony, um, Antony Donn, I could just drop you off?” Morse rambled, stuttering over words nervously.

“Are you sure, you’re looking a bit peaky, Win would love to see you!” Thursday was worried, ever since his little revelation, it was hard to ignore how little his DC had been looking after himself; he tried to convince himself that it was just sensitivity due to the case’s topic, though all the signs were right.

“I’m fine, sir, I won’t make it too late of a night, I promise.” Morse attempted to reassure, although it just seemed to be a vague try at changing the subject matter of the conversation.

Thursday dropped it, but promised himself he’d bring it up with Win later; she knew when a boy needed help, and he’d be damned if she wouldn’t do everything in her path to get Morse to sit around their dinner table and make sure he had a proper meal.


	3. Sleepless Endeavour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter, it's so wonderful to hear that you guys are enjoying this!
> 
> Here is the next chapter, slight trigger warning for some rather unfortunate moments for poor old Morse (alcohol abuse and general angst)

Morse was able to keep it together until Thursday had turned in for the night, he kept the Jag to make it seem as if he was going out to Antony’s mansion; though rather than making the trek to Lake Silence, he drove straight home.

His flat was dingy and never quite smelled fresh, but it was home. He could finally breathe.

Recently, it had been tough to get by for the detective constable, work was intense and unescapable, he was falling deep into the bottle, and although deep down he felt very fondly of Thursday, the way he’d been on Morse’s back was suffocating.

He was too tired to handle all of this, he just wanted the world to disappear.

So, in his recent ritualistic tradition, he poured himself a near pint of whiskey, put on his record player as loud as his ears could bear, and drank the night away.

His head was a swamp of memories and thoughts, life as a child, misery, pain, losing his mother, the never quite escaped feeling of uselessness and worthlessness. Morse’s vision was blurry and incomprehensible by now, if the opera had finished, he couldn’t tell; all that occupied his sense of sound was perpetual ringing.

In the dark, the room was shapes of different shades of grey, and a warm glow from streetlights above, pouring into his despair. Had it not been for his severe intoxication, Morse might have worried about someone turning up to his flat and finding him in such a terrible state, though by this point he was already far past his everyday concerns. Everyone knew he was a mess because that’s what he was.

-

By the time dawn’s pink glow had replaced the orange hues of streetlights, Morse had mostly sobered up, he had forgone sleep in favour of self-critical musing, picking apart everything he hated about himself for hours and hours.

He’d almost forgotten he had to be up early for Thursday.

Since he’d never slept, he was still in his suit from the previous day, although it was beyond crumpled by now and likely carried the stench of cheap whiskey, something he’d become immune to; he decided it was probably a good idea to get changed.

Avoiding his closet’s mirror, as was a habit of late, Morse picked out his second dark blue suit; its thicker wool would discreetly keep him warm without his beloved coat. The summer hadn’t hit him, he still shivered through the hottest of days, he didn’t fake ignorance over the reason, but not confronting his own self-destructive actions was far easier.

It wasn’t until Morse had brushed his teeth and washed his face that he realised what a mistake he had made in not sleeping; not only was his head pounding with a hangover, but keeping his eyes open was getting progressively harder…

He slapped himself quite hard on the cheek, hoping that as soon as he was in the office he’d have a coffee and be able to distract himself with work.

-

The Jag purred to life, bringing a slight smile to Morse’s face, he still loved driving it, after all this time. It wasn’t a far journey to pick up Thursday, but the constant need to keep his eyes open seemed to drag the drive out more than he desired. The sun was glimmering in his eyes, ever increasing the desire to blink into slumber; he resisted, breathing out a sigh of relief once he’d reached the home of his superior.

As per usual, the Thursday house was teeming with life, Win rushing about making sandwiches and fussing over Sam’s clothes, Joan inspecting herself in the hallway mirror, and of course Fred himself trying to tie his tie whilst drinking a brew; it was wonderful and intimidating all at once, though Morse was certainly thankful that the atmosphere woke him up slightly.

“Morning, Morse.” Thursday nodded in his direction, not really paying much attention to him with the business of his morning routine.

Unbeknownst to the detective constable, Win was paying him great attention, discretely worrying over her Husband’s concern, he had been right; the lad looked awful. She had prompted Fred to talk to Morse about what was troubling him, though even she knew that when it came to men talking about their feelings, pigs flying was more likely.

The morning rush wasn’t an appropriate time to discuss such matters, especially in front of the children, so she went about her tasks thinking about how to get Morse alone, or at least in a situation that could allow him to relax a little.

Before she could fret much, it was time to say goodbye to Fred and Morse, and sent them off to solve crimes and bring justice to those who were wronged.

-

As promised the previous evening, Thursday requested that they drive to Ellie Forester’s flat to see if they could find the diet pills that stood suspect as a possible cause of death for the women.

“Here we are then, have you got the Miss Lilith’s, for reference?” Thursday enquired stepping out of the car into the warm Oxford cul-de-sac.

Morse retrieved the package from the back seat of the Jag and locked the car before accompanying Thursday to the front door.

“How was your friend?” Thursday asked, finally giving Morse a good look over, noting the tiredness about his face, “And that early night you were talking about?”

“Oh, um, yes he was alright.” Morse life through his teeth, having almost completely forgotten his little white lie to get out of Thursday’s offer of dinner. He ignored the comment over his clear exhaustion, just wanting to get the day over and done with.

“Right then, let’s see if we can’t find something that makes sense of this case.” Thursday sensed Morse’s tired irritability and let him do what he does best, investigate.

They dug through cabinets and drawers for about twenty minutes before Thursday shouted in morbid delight, tucked in the back of her medicine cabinet was a small crumpled packet of pills, matching those that had belonged to Lisa Lilith.

“Found it, sir?” Morse called from the girl’s bedroom, where he had been looking.

“Yes, just the same,” Thursday replied, joining Morse and presenting his discovery. “We need to be quick getting this to the lab, if you’re right, and they do contain poison of some kind, then there could be hundreds of people at risk!”

Morse nodded, wondering who could be so sick to kill a person who was already so troubled in life, these young ladies deserved care and help, not death; though he couldn’t say the same for himself, he didn’t deserve that, not that he had a problem, of course…

“I’ll take the car and see if I can find these at Molly Parker’s house,” Thursday gestured to the diet pills as he spoke, “I’ll drop you by the pathologist on the way, the sooner we get these off for examination the better.”

“I can walk, Sir, it’s a completely different direction, I wouldn’t want to hold you up.” Morse protested, holding back a yawn, he wasn’t sure he’d manage to say awake if he took another ride in the Jag.

“If you’re sure?” Thursday stared him down with concern, he didn’t exactly look in the best state to be walking across Oxford, “It’s no hassle, Morse, come on, let’s go, we’ve no more need to be here.”

Morse stared after Thursday as he walked to the front door of the flat, frustrated and exhausted, he remained silent and followed his DI out of the door.

-

As Morse had predicted, the combination of the mid-morning sun and the gentle purr of the car left him struggling to stay alert, on more than one occasion he’d swerved slightly and heard Thursday wince in fear that they’d crash into a bollard.

“This is just like the Gull case, Morse.” Thursday said with a confrontational tone, “you’re not rested, you can’t keep on like this.”

Morse ignored the judgement and tried to focus his attention on driving, Thursday frowned, if his bagman was going to just pretend he was completely fine, he just wasn’t going to have it.

“You’re staying at ours tonight, no argument, you’re not right and I can’t trust you to look after yourself when you’re holed up in that flat of yours.” Thursday explained, not giving Morse a second to protest or give excuses, “It’s either this or I tell Mr Bright that you’re not fit for duty.”

If Thursday wasn’t mistaken, Morse’s expression was that of horror, perhaps even fear; what could be so awful that had gotten him in such a state?

-

Morse’s memories exploded into his thoughts like a dam exploding, he just couldn’t shake it; Thursday sounded exactly like _she_ had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooohhhhhh, a cliffhanger!
> 
> if you enjoyed this please don't forget to comment and leave kudos
> 
> see ya next time 
> 
> \- rem x


	4. In the Morgue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there,
> 
> some updates for this fic:  
> 1\. I'm beginning to work on a film at college, so this may be the last update for a few months whilst I'm busy with directing and endless paperwork  
> 2\. If anyone is interested in co-writing this please either leave a comment or drop me an email (remharperphotography@gmail.com), I would love any input (even just ideas)  
> 3\. this chapter was written over a month so apologies if it's a bit crap
> 
> and with that, I present to you Chapter 4:
> 
> (p.s thank you for all your wonderful support on this, some aspects are written from personal experiences so the love you've given to this story really means a lot)

Since Thursday’s outburst, the atmosphere in the car had been tense, Morse was silent; a grim shade taking over his face. Of all the things he’d said, Thursday couldn’t work out what had caused such a reaction from his bagman, surely the threat of care wasn’t enough to render him mute.

He tried to think of something to say, anything that could possibly break through to Morse; he seemed to have pulled further into himself more than Thursday had ever seen, even his traumatised episodes after being shot hadn’t been so severe. It was as if someone had taken the Morse he knew and replaced him with an empty shell matching his likeness.

Before the words had been found, the Jag was parked outside of Cowley General and Morse had left the car, possibly poisoned pills in hand.

Thursday had no choice but to drive away, never spoken concern burning at the end of his tongue.

-

Being in a hospital felt strangely appropriate to Morse, he felt unlike a patient with his head pounding and stomach painfully empty, though if he had been a patient then it wasn’t likely he’d be in a hospital; he belonged in a madhouse, locked away forever.

Trying to shake off the disturbing thought, Morse stalked the corridors until the white-painted metal doors of pathology were before him. He took a deep breath and adjusted his jacket before knocking, the door was cold against his fist, and had it not been for what lay on a slab behind them, Morse would have relished a cooler environment.

The round, cheery face of Dr DeBryn appeared from where he had knocked,

“Hello Morse, what can I do for you?” He asked with a jolly grin, inviting the detective in with a beckoning swoop, “I don’t believe I’ve got a body for you?”

“No, no body,” Morse confirmed, shoving his slightly clammy hand into his jacket pocket to retrieve the two pill boxes, “We need these sent off for analysis, as a possible cause of death for the three young women who, um… died.”

DeBryn took the boxes, examining them and giving Morse an inquisitive look; as if urging him to explain further. Morse, however, was staring at the floor, swallowing back what looked like pain, having been about to ask more about the case, the pathologist’s eyebrows creased with concern realising that perhaps this wasn’t the best moment.

“Is everything alright, Morse, you don’t look well.” DeBryn went to put a friendly hand on the lad’s shoulder, though an immediate flinch rather deterred him. “How about you come into my office and sit down for a minute?”

The suggestion was acknowledged with a meagre nod, and he followed Max slowly, eyes still fixed on the ground; moments before he could push open the office door, Morse stopped, swayed alarmingly, face drained of colour. Within seconds he was out cold on the floor.

-

DeBryn studied the unconscious detective lying on a slightly worn sofa in his office; he’d noticed something was off with Morse recently, this fainting spell seemed to confirm his growing concerns. Whilst Morse was still out, Max decided the best thing to do would be to call the station.

“Hello, Jakes speaking.” A slightly gruff voice informed.

“It’s Dr DeBryn, I’ve got Morse unconscious in my office, would it be possible for someone to come down and speak with me about him.” He asked, not wanting to divulge much information to the Detective Sargent, he knew Jakes’ infamously loose lips would jump at the opportunity to portray Morse as unfit for his duties; though perhaps that was the kind of wake-up call the young Detective needed.

“I’ll send someone over as soon as possible.” Jakes surprised Max as a worried tone filled the reply, “Thank you for calling Doc.”

The line went dead, leaving Max alone with a waifish Morse and his own deepening brow of worry.

The poor lad had never looked so awful in all the time DeBryn had known him, a good few years now, though he supposed with all Morse had been through, it was more than understandable that he’d end up running himself ragged. That wasn’t what had Max so concerned, though. It was the unmistakeable similarities between the three emaciated corpses of Oxford’s troubled young women, and that of Morse, that was what _really_ had Max pouring himself a shot of whiskey.

He seemed to drain the tumbler a lot quicker than he should have before 11am, _bugger it_ , he poured himself another, making sure to half the measure; Max was supposed to be sending off this pills for analysis after all.

That could wait though, because he could hear a tapping at the morgue’s doors, and he had more pressing concerns to discuss. DeBryn heaved himself out of a rather fancy armchair, sat behind his ancient desk, and entered the main room of the department to greet who he thought would be an equally concerned Inspector Thursday.

In hindsight, he couldn’t have been more wrong, about the identity that was, the level of worry was probably rightly predicted.  Jakes and Strange were waiting behind the metal doors, both buzzing with unease.

“Gentlemen, was the Inspector not available?” He asked, allowing them in regardless of his faulted expectations, whilst he may not have trusted Jakes with sensitive information in the past, seeing Strange, who he knew got on with Morse quite well, settled his anxieties; the man in uniform would never let Jakes talk about this particular matter.

“He was out of the office and called in to say he wouldn’t be back until after lunch, we decided that from the urgency of your call, it would be best if we just came, instead of making you wait.” Strange explained, he must have been in the office when the doctor’s call came through.

“So, how is he?” Jakes asked, looking more empathetic than DeBryn had ever seen. “He’s been odd for the past few weeks, is it to do with that?”

“You can come and see for yourself, he’s through there.” Max gestured to the ajar door of his office, letting the two Sergeants in before himself.

Morse was still out, and whilst it did worry the doctor that he’d fainted for so long, he deemed it more likely that Morse had simply just fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

“Blimey, he looks dead.” Strange, rather poetically, put it.

“Yes, good observation Sargent,” DeBryn retorted sarcastically, now was not the time for insensitive remarks, so he bit his tongue, “could you tell me about how Morse has been behaving at work recently?”

“He’s distracted constantly,” Jakes said, without his usual bitter edge, “Avoiding the case too, which is weird for Morse, it’s usually him who’s getting all in a fuss about it.”

Max nodded, he supposed that avoiding a case that confronted his own habits might be something that Morse would do if he was trying to keep his issues buried.

“He won’t even come out for a pint anymore, just seems to hang about aimlessly in the nick, like a zombie.” Strange added, still staring at the prone form of his friend, crumpled on a sofa intended for grieving parents or necrophobes unfortunate enough to find themselves in a morgue.

“I’d offer you a seat, though I think our dear friend Morse could do with the kip.” DeBryn took a deep breath, before he went on, the back of his mind reconsidered discussing Morse’s health with his colleagues; they stood in place as friends, that was enough to stop Max from continuing, if they didn’t do something, who would? “I think, with the exception of the Inspector and perhaps Chief Superintendent Bright, this discussion should stay between us, is that alright with the both of you?”

The sergeants nodded, a nervous atmosphere filled the room, no one wanted to start the conversation particularly, DeBryn supposed someone would have to at some point, and bit the bullet.

“It seems to me, that Morse may be suffering in a similar way to the young women occupying the freezer, I’m not sure of the specifics, as this is just my professional opinion after witnessing his exhaustion and fainting spell half an hour ago, but I’m sure you’d agree from just looking at him, there is something off.” Max’s innermost thoughts spilt out, he tried to keep his rambling to a comprehensive musing, “Whether Morse is aware of his own actions, or this is just another case of needing some mothering, we all need to be here for him, as we’ve seen from Miss Parker and the other victims of this awful disease, death is always around the corner.”

Strange gulped at that, he seemed far out of his depth, Jakes was quiet, but attentive all the same; this case now had higher stakes, and they weren’t something that could be worked out with shoe polish and endless reports.


End file.
